


Mr & Mrs. Dillinger

by chimeramixtapes



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Character Study, Gen, I GUESS???? I DONT KNOW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimeramixtapes/pseuds/chimeramixtapes
Summary: The Dillinger family was a formidable presence, especially when they were all together.





	Mr & Mrs. Dillinger

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally my first time writing anything here and i'm NERVOUS because this is super experimental, but i love jake dillinger so much and i love talking about his life before his parents left!! please let me know what you think of this!!

When Jake Dillinger was fourteen, life was good. He was your everyday rich boy who lived in his high-end neighborhood in a chic, two-storey house with its balcony and gravel driveway. His parents weren't the most social type, often stayed at home and worked. More often than not, Jake would walk home to find an extra car or two in the driveway. Visitors. He knew better to bother his parents if such was the case, often stayed in his room tending to homework while he waited for company to leave. Sometimes, if he were asleep, he would be awoken by the sounds of voices in the kitchen. He never understood what they were saying, 'business-talk' was not his forte. Not yet, anyway.  
When the Dillinger parents did go out, Jake was often standing between them, hair combed, top button of his tailored suit fastened, tie pulled up elegantly, and eyes gleaming with excitement. The Dillinger family was a formidable presence, after all, especially when they were all together.

At fourteen, not many could be scared of Jacob, with his grin lighting up youthful features, amber eyes alight with mischief, still only on the edge of his transition into teenage-hood, jaw not quite sharp yet, childish antics still lying beneath the surface. No, at Jake's age, people were more likely to be intimidated by the Dillinger parents.

Annette Dillinger looked more kindly, with eyes like malachite, small wrinkles framing the corners of her mouth from smiling too much, her hair was a chocolate brown, cut to her slim white shoulders in a fashionable sweep, dresses always fitting her perfectly. At home, her hair was often twisted into a bun, and she wore pencil skirts and heels. He remembers her glasses when she faced a particularly grueling session of work, stylish white frames with three small diamonds studded into each earpiece. Jake remembers seeing a pencil in her hair on occasions, and when he was younger, there is a faint memory of six year old and his mother reciting his times tables. He remembers her voice as sweet, though snake tongue was concealed behind pink lips, Annette Dillinger could be quite persuasive and clever, quick as a whip and sharp as a tack when she worked.

David Dillinger was not the same, though when seventeen year old Jacob examines himself in the mirror, he sees the beginnings of a replica to the strong figure in the portrait that had hung above the mantelpiece. A grim similarity that chills him until he splashes water over his face, David kept his hair short, his beard clean cut, sharp, and his cold stare was always on. He spoke with the casual authority of a man who knew damn well what he was doing, and such was the case. Jake doesn't ever recall seeing him in t-shirts and jeans, it was always suits. He doesn't remember being blindly terrified of his father, yet the mere thought of him makes his hands tremble. He never knew the reason why. Perhaps... although they shared the same eyes, Jake's were often glossy with excitement, flames of mischief and embers of energy, constantly sparkling. Some part of David Dillinger made his golden eyes icy cold, framed by his glasses, thin black wire, the top of them rimless, an elegant, sharp appearance that made his entire being sharp.

That same sharpness pierces Jake's chest when he remembers the portrait, the long standing memory of his parents in his mind. Young Jake was a smudge, a blur in the photograph, one he does not recall, not properly, at least. Remembering something over and over distorts it, the more you remember something, the more changed the memory becomes. The most pristine memories are the ones completely forgotten.

...Although he does not think about it, what his father wore the day he disappeared, the last thing his mother said to him. Instead, he conjures up fanciful dreams of a tearful departure, a smudged note, and an unwilling to let their son go.

The note had been dry. He checked.

They missed him. Any day now, they'd come back to nothing, a blackened husk where his home used to be, and he would see them. They would look the same as their portrait, and he would hug them, and laugh, and smile at these stiff, unblinking forms that came from the canvas. "I missed you."

And there would be no reply, despite the hope he gave himself, the hope he passed on to his peers, he would always dream a false ending, a cover for the broken pattern of the Dillinger tapestry. 

They would say, "We missed you too, Jacob."


End file.
